"Who are?" I asked. "No one's been invited but myself."

"The engines."

"But I haven't ordered any," said I.

"I gave the alarm myself," he added proudly.

Jones's rather unintelligent maid had been standing by my side the
whole time. "Excuse me, Sir," she said, "I don't know, but I think
there's something wrong with your 'ouse--the little room at the back,
where you sit and smoke of an evenin'. There's been a big light there
for some time--a wobbly one. I don't know, Sir, but I think the 'ouse
is a-fire."

"_What?_" I yelled, and dashed aside the two varieties of
constabulary. Yes, it was all true. The strong light at the back of
the house--a wobbly one--was rapidly becoming a glow in the heavens,
as they say in journalese. I stood and looked at it, staggered for the
moment, when I heard a cheer and saw the engines coming. I dashed
for my front-door, but found myself forcibly dragged back. It was the
Special, who seemed to be having the time of his life.

"No one allowed to enter a burning building," said he importantly.

"But I must," I cried; "there are some valuable papers----"

"No one allowed to enter," he repeated firmly--he seemed to have
learned it by heart--"except the firemen and police."